


Crowley’s Nightmares

by Sesquipedalian_Bookwyrm



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: And I’m not complaining, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, My Brain is just full of GO now, Please enjoy :), ineffable husbands, mild swearing, theres nothing else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sesquipedalian_Bookwyrm/pseuds/Sesquipedalian_Bookwyrm
Summary: Crowley is having recurring nightmares about Aziraphale’s trial in Heaven - or, more precisely, the lack thereof. After they just keep getting worse, he finally talks to his angel about them.





	Crowley’s Nightmares

The first time it happened, Aziraphale hadn’t recognized it. They’d been in the bookshop, Crowley and himself. Crowley had dozed off on the sofa, and Aziraphale had been oblivious for a few moments before he realized the head cradled in his lap had started making soft noises. He had glanced down from his book and seen that the lovely yellow eyes had vanished into slumber. Aziraphale smiled affectionately at the sleeping demon and continued to read.

However, about twenty minutes later, the shop bell rang out. Aziraphale glared fiercely at the doorway, out into the shop. He couldn’t see the person who had just wandered in, and he reluctantly and gently shifted Crowley off his lap so he could stand. In a remarkably curt and rude interaction, he all but threw the intruder - a young blond man in college attire - out into the street. The man had seemed in awe of the space, and had appeared polite and clean and gentle with the books, and under any other circumstances Aziraphale would have allowed him to stay...but this afternoon was for himself and his demon only. He flipped the sign to ‘closed’ as he had meant to do hours ago, and was heading back to the sofa when there was a gasp and a yelp. 

He re-entered curiously to find Crowley sitting bolt-upright, easy smirk in place. “Sorry, Angel. Fell off the couch.”

“Well, it’s in your nature, I suppose,” Aziraphale responded, with a touch of laughter to the words. 

Crowley chuckled, and that was that. 

The second time it happened was two or three weeks later, and Aziraphale was actually there for it. 

They had been at Crowley’s this time. Crowley had once again fallen asleep with his head in Aziraphale’s lap as Aziraphale ‘read some book or other’ as Crowley liked to put it. They had both gotten more comfortable in the intervening time, so Aziraphale had been absently stroking Crowley’s hair - continued to do so, in fact, after the lanky demon had faded into unconsciousness.

He was moving to an interesting section of his novel when Crowley started to stir. At first, Aziraphale had thought he was waking, had removed his hand and set the book aside so Crowley wouldn’t hit his head on it if he sat up too fast - this had happened before, and been unpleasant for both Crowley and the book (and thus also Aziraphale, on both counts).

Instead, however, Crowley murmured something unintelligible and shifted a little. 

Just dreams, then. 

But Crowley’s brow creased, and the next murmured sentence was sharper, lower. Gibberish, but it didn’t sound happy. His body jerked, and a quicker, more desperate murmur came from his lips. He jerked again, more harshly. 

Aziraphale frowned, debating. 

He and Crowley did not use miracles on each other. _ Around _ each other, _ for _ each other - but not _ on _ each other, not in that way. To touch Crowley’s mind, even the briefest of fingertip touches...that was not something to do lightly. But Crowley was in pain, and Aziraphale had the ability to stop that pain, and Crowley trusted him. And, arguably, their exchange of physical forms some time ago had already pushed them beyond their careful dance of never using their powers so directly. 

So Aziraphale reached down and brushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He had never tried to ease a nightmare on anyone not a human before, and then only a handful of times. 

“Your dreams are pleasant.” He reassured Crowley gently, with another stroke of his fingers. 

It took everything in him not to gasp at the pain that flashed through his fingertips, the spike of a headache that suddenly flashed through his head. 

As Crowley settled again, Aziraphale frowned down at him. That nightmare, whatever it had been, had been strong - given power through Crowley’s demonic mind, and _ that _ was a result of one thing and one thing only. Crowley believed it. Which perhaps made sense - he was in the midst of it, after all - but Aziraphale sensed it was something more than that. Something to possibly keep an eye on. For the moment, though, he simply hummed in sympathy for the strong, painful nightmare and was happy to have eased it for his dear demon. 

The third time was far more violent, and woke Aziraphale from a slumber of his own. It had been...some time since both of them were asleep in a bed together. While both enjoyed sleeping, they didn’t exactly have _ need _ of it the same way humans did, so they did not have quite as regular a sleeping schedule as the typical Londoner. While Aziraphale enjoyed the ritualistic nature of getting ready for bed, putting on the long silk Victorian nightgown, fuzzy slippers, and occasionally the sleeping cap (though Crowley laughed at that), Crowley himself seemed to find more pleasure at collapsing long-leggedly over any nearby cushiony surfaces and closing his eyes for somewhere between an hour to two full days. 

Recently, he had been spending more and more time as a snake, resting coiled in patches of sun in the bookstore. Aziraphale simply smiled and let him be. It was turning summer, after all, and when sunlight filtered in he always liked to watch the terrifying Serpent from the Garden curl up like a cat in the sun. 

All this to say, he’d been rather enjoying cuddling in bed with his demon, both of them warm and safe and loved by the other. Aziraphale did not feel those things, however, when he was abruptly awakened by a writhe from Crowley. Aziraphale had rubbed his eyes and sat up to assess. Crowley fell still once more, but he was clearly still in the throes of the nightmare; tears were squeezing from the corners of his eyes, and a soft moan of panic and pain drew Aziraphale to him in concern. 

Aziraphale’s hand hovered, unsure if he should wake Crowley or simply change his dream. He still hadn’t told Crowley about the first time he’d done that - he suspected the demon didn’t want to talk about the nightmares, so he hadn’t brought it up, but now...he felt wary of touching Crowley’s mind again in such a way without some sort of permission to do so. 

Aziraphale was spared the choice, however, when Crowley abruptly thrashed, an arm flinging out. Aziraphale jerked away from the flailing limb, tangled his legs in the crumpled sheet, and fell off the bed. He gave a short, involuntary cry of alarm as he toppled. 

Crowley cried out. He cried out in a voice of so much panic, so much pain, that Aziraphale immediately scrambled for the side of the mattress, pulling himself back to Crowley’s side, eyes filling with panic of his own. 

Crowley’s eyes were still shut as he cried, “_No!_”

And then, “_Stop!_”

And then, with a heart-wrenching, choked gasp, he _ screamed_. Screamed a cry that, even as it yanked him into consciousness, was so agonized that it carried into the waking world and he threw himself into a sitting position, eyes flying open, still screaming it: “ _ ANGEL! _”

Aziraphale’s mind didn’t know what to do at first, but some things are written into our very cores. Not perhaps, the cores of all angels and demons...but the cores of an angel and a demon who had grown to be more than either title could hold. Something in our cores knows what to do when someone we love is in pain, and even if our minds are frozen, our thoughts paralyzed, and our emotions in utter disarray, the core of our hearts is still spurred to action. 

Aziraphale loved Crowley with all he had to give, so he reached out to the panting, wild-eyed demon without needing to think - slowly, because even the sweetest of creatures will lash out if cornered. When Crowley did not react negatively (if he had even noticed at all, which Aziraphale somewhat doubted), the angel started to rub soothing circles on his spine. 

It took a few minutes as Aziraphale assembled whatever his emotions might have been into something more comforting. This was not the time to have a discussion on Aziraphale’s behalf - Crowley was hurt, and needed help.

So they remained in silence for a few more minutes before Crowley gave something between a whimper and a groan and dragged both hands down his face. 

“Are you...all right?” Aziraphale asked, unsure of how, or indeed what exactly, to ask. 

Crowley just sighed, lowering his hands without looking up. 

“I’ll be fine, angel.”

That was perhaps the most worrying thing he could have said. 

Aziraphale frowned. “You’re not fine.”

“I said _I’ll _be_ fine_.”

“Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyes lifted, and there was some fire in them. “I’m _ fine_.”

“How long has this been happening?”

The fire went out. Crowley lowered his eyes again.

“Crowley, _please_.”

A pause.

“A while.” Crowley sighed. “Since...around that time I fell off your sofa.”

Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s back in sympathy. “I’m not surprised. You knocked me off the bed with your thrashing.”

Crowley’s gaze jerked to Aziraphale, alarm in his yellow eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

Aziraphale hurried to reassure him. “Of course not. I’m perfectly all right.”

~

Crowley felt something in his chest release at the words. Aziraphale was fine. He was here, and he was fine. 

It was fine, he told himself. 

...It wasn’t fine. 

Crowley had been having the nightmares since their respective trials; or, to put it more simply, since he’d seen Heaven. 

Seen Heaven _ again_. 

He didn’t remember much from before he was Fallen, and something, some small guilty part of whatever remained of his soul, was curious about Heaven. He had gone in hoping against hope that this plan would work, that everyone would be fine. He was very worried about Aziraphale in Hell, seeing where Crowley had come from, seeing the dirt and the darkness Crowley had fallen into, and crawled back out of. What might Aziraphale think of him? At least Heaven was nice. Boring and stale and plain, possibly, but nowhere near Hell for violence, so Crowley wasn’t very worried about himself. 

These thoughts swirled in his head as he was pulled into a room with some statuesque Archangels and a pillar of Holy Fire. 

Crowley had let out an internal sigh of relief that the plan seemed to be going as, well, planned, and tried to pull together his Aziraphale impression for the ensuing trial. 

And then - it hadn’t happened. 

Crowley knew - he didn’t so much _ care_, but oh, he knew - that Hell didn’t like him. They grumbled and insulted and bossed him around like he didn’t know how to do his job - and okay, so he wasn’t actually doing that job, but _ they _ didn’t know that. But, for all their rudeness and pleasure at his downfall, for all that his trial, as Aziraphale had explained, had been a show and a sham...he’d still _ had _ one. Aziraphale...they’d treated Aziraphale like he was worthless, like he didn’t even _matter_, like he wasn’t the most precious and beautiful angel God Herself had seen fit to create in this flawed universe-!

He’d never even suspected.

With all of Aziraphale’s pouting and offhand comments about ‘strongly worded notes’ and ‘getting Gabriel upset with you’, Crowley had never thought - 

He’d always assumed that if one of their sides was going to make trouble, it would be Downstairs. He realized long ago that Hell would destroy him for what he had with Aziraphale. He had realized long ago that such destruction would be well worth it. 

But he’d never agreed to risk Aziraphale. Never. He’d assumed...he didn’t know what he’d assumed. But whatever it was, it hadn’t been Gabriel telling Aziraphale the words that still rang hollow in his every thought. 

The words that still growled and snarled through his never ending nightmares. 

“_Shut up and die already._”

And it was those words, that snarled disdain, the complete shutting-out of Aziraphale that he had received from his brethren above - it was this that drew him back into the present, with the Aziraphale of Now crouched next to him on the bed. Trying to comfort _ him._

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, reaching to cup his angel’s face in his own sin-stained hands. 

Aziraphale smiled in hesitant reassurance, unsure of what Crowley was looking for. Unaware that Aziraphale’s presence, his care, was all Crowley had ever wanted. 

There was a fear that coiled in Crowley’s chest now. It had settled there when he and Aziraphale had reunited in that park. When Crowley, after all those years of following his angel, of trying to go slow enough, of trying to discern his angel’s feelings - when Crowley had truly discovered what Aziraphale had risked to be with him. 

Crowley kissed his angel, quickly and desperately - before deciding that, nice as that was, it was not enough physical contact to be reassuring. He subsequently threw his arms around Aziraphale, clinging tightly to his _ ridiculous _ silk Victorian nightgown. 

Aziraphale wrapped his own arms around Crowley quickly enough. 

“Crowley…” his voice was hesitant but determined. “Crowley, you called out for me.”

Crowley just clutched his angel tighter, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into the silk. 

A few minutes, and then Aziraphale asked, a voice full of tenderness: “What were you dreaming about?”

The same thing. The same damned thing he dreamed about every time he closed his eyes for more than a second in human form. Something about his snake form allowed him to escape it - snakes didn’t dream - but he couldn’t spend the rest of eternity as a snake. 

“Heaven,” Crowley mumbled. 

He could sense Aziraphale’s confusion. Aziraphale had survived centuries of Heaven, and while he did not, perhaps, _ like _ Heaven, _ he _ was not crippled nightly by terrors of it. 

“I never knew, angel,” he managed finally, “how much you risked. For me.”

He had told Aziraphale about the lack of a trial. And Aziraphale had not been surprised. 

“So…” Aziraphale prompted gently, “that’s what you dreamed about? My trial?”

“You didn’t _ have _ a trial,” Crowley snapped. 

Silence. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure if that was in response to his statement or his apology, but Aziraphale didn’t elaborate. 

Crowley closed his eyes. “Have you ever seen people burn, angel?” he asked quietly. “I have.”

The images crawled through his mind, provided a full and horrifying template. “They did that, you know. In the Spanish Inquisition. I got a commendation for it, so I went to see.”

The shudder that rippled through him was violent and sudden. 

“It was…” but he didn’t have a word for it. “It was slow,” he finally said. “It was too Hell-blessedly slow. And they screamed.”

Aziraphale moved back, allowing Crowley some space, and resumed his gentle circles on Crowley’s back. 

“That’s what I dream about. You. Burning, and screaming, and I can’t get to you, and none of those _ God-damned angels _ are doing a thing to stop it!”

Crowley was suddenly panting, breaths too short and lungs too empty. 

Aziraphale continued rubbing his back, making small shushing noises until Crowley could breathe again. 

“I’m here, Crowley. I’m all right. I’m here.”

Crowley gave him a somewhat desperate look, and suddenly blurted a question he’d wanted to know the answer to for a long time. 

“How, angel? How could you keep going back to them when you knew they would do that to you?”

Then, very, very softly, his angel said, “I always assumed if they did that then it was what I deserved.”

Crowley opened a horrified mouth, but his angel continued, suddenly fierce. 

“It was worth it, Crowley. Every second to spend with you - but it was wrong - at least I used to think so.” 

Aziraphale’s blue eyes met Crowley’s gold. 

“I don’t think that any more. This isn’t wrong, what we have. But I used to believe the others, so I thought…I’d have done it again, spent all that time with you. And I believed that, at the end, I would be justly punished for it.”

Aziraphale got a slightly distant look in his eye. “God told us to love. That was most important, She said. The love. But there’s no love in Heaven any more. It’s all just fear.” He gave a small humorless chuckle. “‘Fear not’, indeed. That’s all they do up there.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley into his arms.

“I’m here now, Crowley. Safe, with you. And I’ll stay here and remind you, whenever you have a nightmare that tells you otherwise.”

Crowley felt something in his very bones just...relax. Because when Aziraphale said it, that meant it was the truth. His angel was here. Here, and safe. They had done it. And now, they were free. 

“I wish I’d figured it out sooner,” Aziraphale said after a long pause. “That I didn’t deserve punishment for what we’ve done. I was so very afraid, for so long, that I was doing the wrong thing.”

Crowley’s mouth curved into a gentle smile as he pulled back and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. 

“You’re my angel. I don’t think you _ can _ do the wrong thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked this. 
> 
> So, so much thanks to everyone who left a comment on my first fic, Aziraphale’s Nest, and fueled my muse through this one, too.  
Shoutout to Roasted_and_ghosted, who inspired me to add more Ineffable Husband Hugs to this fic, and the rest of my writing.  
sincerely_a_fan, I loved your keysmash ;) and (assuming this is the same person as sincerely-a-fan on tumblr) thanks for inspiring me to make an ao3 in the first place! I’ll love you forever for it.  
winterspirit13, your use of exclamation points was inspirational, I’m glad I warmed your dear gay heart.  
sinful dinisaur, I hope it only made you cry in the best way!  
ximeria, I love the confetti XD  
KalessinAstarno, I’m thrilled you relate to my writing!  
And 5ftjewishcactus, I’m glad you felt that line was in character. I could almost hear him saying it as I wrote it! (And, May I just say, killer username btw)
> 
> To everyone who thanked me for writing and/or asked for more: this is for you all, and probably more to come since my muse is actually sticking to a single fandom for once. Seeing these comments pop up in my email made my day every time I received one.  
To everyone who left Kudos: this goes for all of you as well. I’m so glad you liked it! 
> 
> Comments, anything from keysmash to criticisms, are treasured as though I am a dragon and they are my hoard.


End file.
